Dec 31, 2024
listen. I just think that Jin has two hands. jin, tohma, mc….. they are holding hands in a circle.. (real) (not clickbait)
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from Italy
seen from Australia
seen from Egypt
seen from Russia
seen from T1
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Austria
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland
seen from Australia
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
listen. I just think that Jin has two hands. jin, tohma, mc….. they are holding hands in a circle.. (real) (not clickbait)
IT WAS DEFINITELY SHIRO
IT WAS, WASN’T IT?!
(stares off into the middle distance) I knew it.
And wow I just wanted to write you something funny and short in response but then this happened.
Coran twirled the left end of his mustache, a sharp glint in his eyes as he overlooked the tiny makeshift set-up before him. It wasn’t quite the same as the highly detailed turquoise holograms and the carefully carved figurines, but the random bits and pieces they found on the planet Verkos was more than enough for an exhausted band of heroes looking for a distraction from the several weeks voyage still left before reaching Earth. After the three-varga-long session Coran had hosted a few quintants before, Krolia had now settled down in a corner with one of the tablets, carefully constructing a character to fit the slim gray and brown rock she had selected to represent her. When any of them offered to help her, she had simply waved them off. Hunk swore he heard her muttering about feats and exotic races and prestige classes he had never even heard of, which did little to ease the group as they glanced over to watch her work.
Alternatively Keith, upon hearing Shiro had already died several times in this game, had simply grabbed a large rock and planted it on the playing mat next to Shiro’s rubbery leaf figurine and said: “Make me big. And strong.”
Keith’s character became the biggest, mightiest, beefiest, and still somehow the fastest among them - much to Lance’s outrage - mostly made of mismatched muscles and a collection of hands wielding a horrifying array of sharp things. Mostly Keith’s time playing was spent rolling often and unnecessarily, shouting out results to checks Coran hadn’t required and rolling an impossibly high amount of the Altean equivalent of a nat-twenty. His character, Gorg, spoke very little, the longest sentence being “I am Gorg. I have come to protect Jiro.” His other sentences usually consisted of him changing that name as Shiro’s many characters fell to Coran’s malicious intent.
Coran seemed about to enact it once again. “So, just to make this clear, Number One,” Coran started, his tone light and gleeful, “you would like Viro-”
“No, no, we’re on Niro now.”
“What? We’re not on Tiro? When did Tiro die?”
“Pretty quick, actually. Xiro failed his saving throw on the poison and died, Tiro ran in half a second too late to save his brother, and then the guards shot him full of arrows because this random dude just sort of appeared out of nowhere. So. Yeah. Shot him dead.”
“Paladins. You are all wrong. It’s Yiro, now.”
To Romelle, it sounded as if the group had been playing this game - a game she found quite boring if she was being totally honest - for decaphebes. She was quickly corrected.
Twenty-two vargas in total.
Shiro sighed, weariness settled deep in his bones as he sat propped between Keith and Allura. He understood that by now the high mortality rate of his characters was an ongoing joke, but the new body ached and his head still pounded with months of rest he could never dream of catching up on and Yiro had had really nice stats. He straightened himself, aiming to put the debate to rest on which reincarnation this was when Keith abruptly spoke up.
“I am sworn to protect Kiro. First of his name. Sixteenth son, to inherit the quest of Shiro should his other brothers perish.”
There was a long silence as everyone stared wide-eyed at Keith, who had now broken the record for how many words Gorg had ever spoken in one go. Shiro laughed, soft and weak somewhere in his chest, but Keith smiled all the same at the small display of enjoyment.”
Coran glanced over at Romelle, who had created a list of all the Shiros, and she gave him a nod of approval. “… Right. Well, just to be clear, now that Pike has unlocked it, Kiro is opening the door?”
Shiro nodded. “Yes.”
Coran proceeded to do a series of frantic rolls, snatched Shiro’s tablet at some point - an easy feat nowadays - and then cackled. “Kiro bursts into flames!” A dramatic pause. “And perishes.”
Keith sat up, leaving Shiro to fall onto Allura. “Gorg dumps his water barrel on Kiro before he burns.”
“Ah, but it is magical fi-”
“I rolled this symbol. Is this like a nineteen?” Keith was aggressively holding the d20 up in the air for Coran to see, eyes narrowed but voice horrifyingly even.
“The trap is set to-”
“I also rolled this number. In case you need to check my reflexes.”
Shiro reclaimed his tablet as the two began to shoot back numbers and checks, acquiescence clear in his gaze. “Ahem,” he started off, clearing his throat for good measure. “I am…” A quick glance at Romelle’s list showed he was running out of letters to use. “Ziro… And I have come to continue my brother’s quest.” He began to tap the update into his character’s family tree, but the tablet merely buzzed at him and refused his request. Shiro frowned, retyping the name and pressing once more.
Nothing.
“Coran. What is happening?”
Coran’s entire face went dark, a low maniacal laugh ripping out of his chest. “You have hit… the maximum number of siblings the program can handle!” Coran announced with delight. “You will be forced to craft a new character from scratch! A new character, a new class. And it will be glorious!”
The entire group erupted into laughter and cheers as Shiro pouted in disbelief at his character sheet. Lance looked like he might cry from joy.
And then Shiro hummed thoughtfully.
“I can’t have anymore siblings?” he asked. “You’re sure.”
Coran was still grinning, eyes alight with victory and hellfire. “Yes!”
Shiro smiled, typing something into his tablet before picking up a small purple rock near his knee and placing it beside Gorg. “I am Shiro Jr. I am a ten year old training to be a powerful Paladin like my father. I have come to avenge him and all my uncles, and to complete my father’s quest!”
Silence.
Romelle was the first to start laughing, so hard she fell over.
Coran had gone pale. “Wait,” he started, voice wavering. “Shiro never mentioned a significant other! Or a child! You can’t be here without an adult!”
“Gorg has come to-”
“You do not count!” Coran snapped, a vein throbbing on his forehead. “How do you plan to explain this child just showing up out of nowhere? Who is the other parent? Why was this boy never mentioned before???”
“The answer to all your questions is simple.” The group in unison turned to Krolia, who now sat beside Keith with her tablet and the slim rock she had chosen. “I am Avaris, a Silvaran druid with a celestial wolf familar. I met Shiro many years ago on a mission of my own, but he was summoned away at the news of someone sighting the beast that had slain his master, and I never saw him again. He never knew I would later give birth to his one and only heir. With Gorg’s assistance, I seek to ensure the completion of my former lover’s quest.” Krolia’s eyes flashed a blinding yellow. “And the unquestionable survival of my son.”
Romelle suddenly loved this game.
aubade no.3 in Bb major: perihelion
woe. some of my fav fic snippets be upon ye (ft. Jin POV)
(Because that Tohma—no matter how much he silently bitches to himself over breakfast, that lazy, loafing bastard —is yours.
You remember. The day he’d knelt in front of you, the sole devotee of a dying god: pledging fealty like a murmured prayer. You’d told him—what’s that? Say it again for me. Just to fuck with him, you’d say, keeping the real reason under wraps.
… If a man cradles your heart in his hands, well—you better be pretty damn sure he won’t take off at the first opportunity.
This, too, you’ll remember: how he’d knelt for you. Pressed a kiss to your hand in a tender promise, intertwined your fingers in an ironclad oath. Not because you commanded it—no, he’d kissed your hand and crept into your heart, just for one simple reason. Desire damns him; hell, maybe one day it’ll be the death of you both. Your ever-loyal lapdog, your loving hound. He’ll shadow your footsteps, even if it drags him down to the depths of hell.)
*
It’s late enough that the moon’s deigned to grace its grand audience of two, painting the room in shades of silver. You’d sometimes complain that your mom’s favorite child was actually good ol’ Yamaha-kun; hell, you’d joked that you were starting to get a little jealous of those glossy keys, for all the attention she paid them—but there was no swaying her. The piano bench was her second home.
She kept calling her compositions lackluster, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. She’d make a song for anything, everything. Nocturne No.3 “My Son’s Sleepy Smile” (sweet as hell, but so damn embarrassing…) rings out softly into the silence. Hazily, you watch the world outside being slowly blanketed with endless white—maybe that’s why the sound of her voice sounds muffled; maybe that’s why her laughter sounds like the faint crackle of static, instead of the sweet, gentle notes of sepia-toned song.
You dream, and you dream, and you dream. You want to go back. You want to wrench the goddamn grandfather clock from where it hangs. You want to say:
Hey, Mom. You can tease me all you want—as a kid, for being too tiny to reach Yamaha-kun’s pedals. As a teenager, for my long-held vendetta against Liszt. Even now, you can drag my sleepy ass from my comforters all you want. I’m so damn sick of waking up nauseous from nostalgia—I feel your absence cut through me as keenly as a wound.
*
Something’s fucking breaking, and it isn’t anything physical.
(For fuck’s sake, Jin Kamurai, keep it together. There’s a thousand reasons why you can’t go falling apart now, even if your heart shudders and shrieks like a wounded animal at each heartrending note of grief. And yet—you can’t help but wonder. Is that the face you made at your mother’s funeral?
Your mother, who’d danced with you across the kitchen tiles, stepping on your toes no less than sixteen times. Your mother, whose face always lit up when her hands were gliding across the keys. Your mother, who’d clapped with heartfelt joy at your mediocre performances, even if you fucked up the key change and were fighting a losing battle against the sudden onslaught of sharps. Your mother, singing to her favorite flowers perched on the windowsill; you never had the heart to tell her she was off key.
But her songs slowly began to desert her. Her beloved flowers on the windowsill began to wither, and the sweetly chirping shima enaga on the eaves, one by one, fled for the winter. That’s why you took it up in her stead. She couldn’t muster the energy to make it to the piano bench, much less make it out of her room—so you’d run through Ravel’s La Valse every morning because she’d always been a hopeless romantic: you could give her a glimpse into the glittering world of waltzing couples; the great blaze of a golden chandelier; the mad joy of being alive.
“Ich grolle nicht” from Schumann’s Dichterliebe. Mahler 5 Adagietto. Tchaikovsky’s Pas de Deux. You knew—of course you fucking knew that no matter how much you tried to fill the endless, aching emptiness that howled within her heart and threatened to swallow her whole, it would never be enough.
But if it made her smile—hell, if it made the light in her eyes return for even a moment—then maybe you could coax it to linger just a little longer and stay the night.)
*
… Sometimes, when you look in the mirror; it pisses you off. All you can see are your father’s features—but then you remember. At least you have your mother’s eyes, your mother’s smile, your mother’s laugh, your mother’s music. … Do they see their sister, reflected back? Does it haunt them, the same way your mother haunts you every time you rest your fingers against those gleaming keys? Do they braid their hair in memory of a ghost looking back?
… That’s right. You don’t play piano anymore for such a simple reason as ‘liking it’. Some habits are engraved so deeply within your body—blood and bone, mind and marrow—that they're as easy as breathing. Just as birds take to the sky, and fish swim through the sea. Whenever the weight of missing her becomes too hard to bear, you keep good ol’ Yamaha-kun company, filling the room with the racing notes of Ravel’s La Valse.
*
Whenever you rest your hands on these gleaming keys, you feel young again. You hear the echo of a laughing kid who danced across the kitchen tiles without a care in the world. … The warmth of someone else beside you on the piano bench chases away the trembling in your hands—because Frostheim’s winters are relentless, that’s all. All those years spent trembling in the cold slowly melt away; some frigid, frozen thing within you begins to thaw.
Liebestraum No.3 fills the room. It’s not like you can recite those sappy-ass stanzas by heart, but you get the gist of it. … Because Mom told you, all those years ago.
*
…Truth is, you’re so damn scared.
Because you’re starting to grow fond of the noise. Yapping brats. Tohma’s taunts. Hina’s laughter. Stolen cigarettes and stolen monocles. Two certain someones nagging you to eat. The taste of home. The sun at your window, banging at your door. Chiikawa-themed bentos. Your hound: calling your name, calling you home. Your jester, giggling into your shoulder like a fool. You close your eyes and think: I could listen to this song forever.
What Happens Before a One Night Stand Sheith AU
Because it’s my birthday and I haven’t given you guys anything new that I’ve been writing, here you are! There’s a paragraph of super suggestive stuff somewhere below the cut, but that’s about it.
Enjoy!
He’s caught between the pulsing of the techno band and the flickers of Glitter Dusted Eyes in a Crop Top. Lance and Pidge are hopping up and down in the swelling waves of the crowd, Hunk bobbing his head and passionately mouthing the words beside them because somehow he knows the band. Shiro should be out there by anyone’s definition. If Hunk can do a spot on impersonation of this band’s ‘soprano in a wood chipper’ sound while in the middle of the dance floor, Shiro can surely swing his hips to the beat and act like he enjoys his friends. Which he does, he really does. But he’s far more in his element leaning against the bar watching from a distance. That way he can know all his friends are safe in one place and keep tabs on the doors and anyone offering them drinks.
And Glitter Dusted Eyes in a Crop Top – Crop Top for short – can’t accidentally brush against him at the bar. Shiro is positive his heart won’t manage well if that happens. They’d made eye contact a few minutes after Shiro and his group had ordered their drinks and Shiro had managed to smile without realizing it before – upon realizing what he’d done – ducking his head and trying desperately to slip back into whatever conversation Lance was leading. Maybe it hadn’t even been eye contact. Crop Top could have been casually looking around the room. Crop Top probably didn’t even notice the guy with the bad dye job on his bangs – AKA Shiro. Truth be told, the white hair was actually natural thanks to the accident, but try convincing anyone else of that.
Lance had the decency to wait until Pidge and Hunk hit the floor before he turned to waggle his eyebrows at him.
“Who was so distracting, Shiiiiiiiiiii-ro?”
Shiro stumbled through his sudden interrogation with “That guy with the black hair. And the crop top.” He hadn’t dared to mention the golden glitter around Crop Top’s purple eyes.
Lance’s only comment was that he should go dance with the guy. Since then he’s been, surprisingly, leaving Shiro alone. The grad student’s inability to make the first move is most certainly not going to interfere with Lance’s plans to dance until he drops and laugh until he can’t breathe.
Still, just because Shiro can’t touch – and hell below knows he wants to – doesn’t mean he can’t look. But only for three beats at a time. Any longer than that and he’ll start to imagine running his hands over that bared abdomen, feeling the shudders of Crop Top’s laughter beneath his fingertips. He’ll imagine what Crop Top’s voice might be like, a heated secret whispered in his ear and against the dip between his jaw and neck. Still, one bar of music is more than enough for Shiro. He keeps his drink in his hand, his head turned towards the stage, and – most importantly – his eyes on his friends or the band. Well, at least for a few bars of music. He looks every once in a while, which might just be the most masochistic thing he could have done to himself… and also possibly the creepiest. No problem, though, because he would deny carefully timing his glances at Crop Top to the grave.
It’s one of his music breaks again again, except for the fact that the band’s keyboardist is playing with a launchpad now, one hand dedicated to an electric chord while the other travels across the buttons unleashing arches of zaps and buzzes and trilling beeps. Five bars become nine, then twelve, then seventeen, and by the time Shiro thinks to glance back at the crowd Crop Top is gone.
Shit.
It’s not as if Shiro had expected having the good fortune to talk to the guy. While open to flings and one-night stands – even if a couple had become more than that by accident (see his entire friendship with Lance for more information) – Shiro’s clubbing habits weren’t exactly helpful in achieving either. He avoided drinking enough alcohol in public to take off the edge, he tended to bottle up any thoughts of making the first move, and he lingered on the sidelines more often than not. Still, Shiro had reasoned with himself that maybe if Crop Top ever stopped dancing he’d make his way over and say something that in the moment he’d pretend was smooth. Tonight hadn’t originally been one of those nights where being with someone was the goal, but Shiro’s eyes sweep the club a second and a third time and he finds that maybe… well, maybe it would have been nice. And now…
Well now Shiro is left to imagine.
It’s too bad on several levels, because Shiro doesn’t even know his name, let alone his voice or-
“Hey. You wanna dance?”
Shiro tenses but doesn’t jump (definitely not, no, not at all) as he turns his head and finds-
Crop Top.
Glitter Dusted Eyes in a Crop Top.
In a small voice he manages a rather eloquent “What?” Shiro is honestly still reeling from the music and the eerily timed appearance and the way Crop Top has sidled up beside him with his lips tucked into this little smile because that’s not even fair.
It only gets worse when the smile splits into a grin - not showy or particularly charismatic like Lance’s, but sharp; a challenge. Crop Top’s eyes are dark beneath glittering gold eyeshadow, observant, fiery and heated despite their cool violet color. “I asked if you wanted to dance?”
Oh.
Oh.
“I don’t-“ The words are slipping out of his mouth until Lance’s rogue comment interferes. You should dance with the guy. Shiro huffs a laugh of disbelief that he’s taking Lance’s advice before he looks back over at Crop Top. “Yeah.” His drink – whatever it is, he can’t quite remember – is left abandoned as he slides off his stool. Shiro knows Crop Top’s hand is guiding him onto the floor – his brain is all too aware, actually – but he can’t help but feel that grin is doing half the work. It’s becoming a star performer in his head and it’s only been present for five seconds.
Crop Top slips the two of them into the writhing and the pulsing before whirling to face him. His hands are hot on Shiro’s neck, slipping through his undercut and massaging the base of his skull. That alone is enough to turn away whatever interested looks either of them might’ve been getting. It’s subtle but effective, the simple possessiveness behind it. It’s perfect for making Shiro’s legs second-guess themselves, heat rushing through him.
Shiro’s brain is heavy in his head, drunker on the playful fingers threading through his hair than that drink was ever going to get him. By a miracle he remembers to hold Crop Top’s hips, thumbs brushing hip bones that jut above low riding black jeans. He holds himself back from touching more than what he already has. The rest requires much more specific permission than what he’s been given, and there’s only so much he’s comfortable doing in public anyway.
Shiro bobs and sways passably to the beat – this type of dancing is not his forte by a long shot. Even if it were, he’s far too focused on the magnetizing way that Crop Top’s hips circle and buck, effortless and artful.
It’s amazing how he arches against Shiro and his hips roll just so. Shiro’s lungs make a desperate grab for air that he tries to consciously soften. But no amount of trying can keep his head from falling back as Crop Top does the movement again. Feeling the easy flow of muscles beneath his fingertips is one thing. This is another.
“Can I-?” Shiro’s eyes flicker to Crop Top’s, lightly squeezing Crop Top’s hips meaningfully as they do that fucking roll again; that’s what they should be labeling it. The Fucking Hip Roll. The Fucking-
Suddenly Shiro isn’t in the club. He’s somewhere drowning in promises and praise between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against collarbones and Adam’s apples, racing hearts pounding with nothing but skin between them. His fingers dig into a slimmer back, their chests flush against each other, just on this side of unbearably hot, moans pouring over Shiro’s lips, and Crop Top’s hips pressing against him – pushing him back into the sheets – with that fucking hip roll.
Shiro didn’t need the mental image. He really, really didn’t.
Crop Top smiles as if he’s been waiting for Shiro to ask just that. Maybe he has. Maybe he was just waiting for Shiro to start. “Go for it.”
The mindless, easy dancing has always been hard for Shiro. But his hips understand the purposeful movements of grinding very well.
His head falls back with a stuttering exhale.
Shiro doesn’t contribute an ounce of how good it is to the way he finally meets Crop Top in the middle, his shirt riding up with each liquid thrust so that their skin touches in heated flashes. But he does thank his lucky stars for the ghost of a shudder that goes through Crop Top when he laughs. It’s nearly a full-on thing as he lets his head fall forward, resting warm against Shiro’s heart, laughter bubbling up inside him. Shiro doesn’t know why this gorgeous guy started laughing, but he wonders if he keeps doing it because he can hear how loudly Shiro’s heart is pounding in his chest.
It doesn’t matter either way because he continues to grind against Shiro. And even that isn’t so important to Shiro at this point. He chuckles into Crop Top’s hair, a grin growing on his face.
He’s happy so long as Glitter Dusted Eyes in a Crop Top stays with him a little longer.
The ocean of bodies doesn’t have room for two people uninterested in arching against the rest of the group, so over time they find themselves at the edge of the dance floor where the volume is lowered just enough to be on the side of hearing yourself think again.
Shiro leans against a wall. He’s not out of breath by a long shot - or at least he isn’t when Crop Top isn’t stealing the air straight from his lungs, his lips tasting like he swallowed the sun, a touch of sand and fire in the way he kisses roughly, aggressive, no room to guess when he bites at Shiro’s bottom lip and pulls. But Shiro’s body is out of any dance ideas that would be suitable for a public dance floor. Crop Top slots himself between Shiro’s arm and his side, breathless from laughing. Shiro waits for him to catch his breath before finally asking “What’s your name?”
Crop Top looks up at him with those eyes again, still dark and smouldering, smiling. “Keith. Yours?”
“Shiro.”
“You come here with anyone?”
Shiro nods, gaze flitting over the dancers to frantically recalibrate. He’d let Crop Top - Keith - distract him, but luckily his eyes land on Pidge soon enough. Lance and Hunk haven’t left her side, though another woman with broad shoulders has shown up, muscles prominent beneath her dark skin. She was introducing herself to Hunk as they danced – May? Shay? Shiro could only guess on her lip movements in the low lighting.
“Over there. Pidge finished this huge coding project and Lance will take anything as an excuse to go celebrate.”
Keith arches his eyebrows. “College student?”
Shiro shakes his head. “They’re college. I’m in the grad program at the same school.”
“Do I get to guess what for?”
“Go for it.”
Shiro waits while Keith gives him an appraising once-over, one that seems far more focused on how his gray shirt hugs his muscles than looking for hints at Shiro’s dream job. Then his gaze goes sharp, taking in tiny details like the hint of a tattoo just above the top of Shiro’s black skinny jeans, his gleaming silver watch, the effortless sweep of eyeliner into wings Shiro perfected freshman year of high school. Shiro feels as if Keith has just lifted up the hood and is examining everything that makes Shiro work.
Finally his gaze flicks back to Shiro’s gray eyes. Face blank and voice a perfect monotone he says “Fashion design.”
That shocks a laugh out of Shiro. “Shit, time to switch my degree. That sounds like way more fun.”
Keith’s mouth quirks up at the left corner. “So what is it really?”
“It’s general science, actually.”
Keith hums. “So Bill Nye?”
Shiro can’t believe that’s the first time someone’s ever said that to him. He groans. “All of your guesses sound more exciting than what I’m actually doing.”
“Which is?”
Shiro sighs, glancing over at where the bartender is taking away his long abandoned drink. Probably for the best. There are a couple people swaying where they stand while eyeing lonely drinks. He’s been around Lance enough to know that there were some drunks who became low key conquerors in their own right, claiming drinks for themselves. He isn’t sure he wants to guess who might have decided to taste test his. “I wanna be a teacher, actually. Maybe high schoolers? It isn’t what I originally set out to do but…” He fully expects for Keith’s gaze to already be searching the crowd by the time Shiro looks back at him, but instead he meets those piercing violet eyes head on.
Shit.
Shiro stills, not prepared for the eye contact. “I know it sounds boring but I think it’s cool. Science is everywhere and it’s essential to everything and it’s so amazing and my teachers in high school were terrible at teaching it..”
Keith leans further into Shiro’s warmth, even if the club is already warm. “Science is good. I remember going to Six Flags for Physics Day. We were the only class where the teacher made us do a packet and record data for all the roller coasters…” He shakes his head fondly. “It was fun though. And the space unit was the best part.”
Shiro snorts. “How dare the teacher make you learn things on Physics Day at Six Flags,” he jokes. “But you liked it? Is it related to your major at all? Engineering or something?” Keith looks like he’s Lance and Hunk’s age, after all.
Keith shrugs, a little tense at the mention of his major, but the motion mostly easy despite that. “I like looking up at the stars, thinking I’m racing between them. I used to live out in the desert. The view’s way better out there than here in the city.”
That Shiro understands painfully well. Back during training he’d been out in the desert for weeks at a time. It reminded him of how the galaxy could swallow you whole, and yet he wasn’t afraid if it ever planned to do just that.
“But actually I’m an apprentice at a repair shop. Usually I take night courses on the mechanics. I don’t think I’m ready for the college lifestyle. Not sure I’ll ever be.”
Shiro nods. “It’s not for everyone. You do what’s right for you.”
Keith says nothing after that.
Fuck, Shirogane. You made this conversation way too serious way too fast. And obviously the whole college thing was a sore subject.
“So… space,” he starts, trying to find safe ground again.
Keith tilts his chin up to look at him. “Uh huh.” He seems speculative, but the corners of his mouth are angled upwards.
“Like, Picard and Dathon at El-Adrel?”
Instantly Keith’s face lights up, his jaw dropping. “I mean, sure.” There’s a breathiness to his voice like he’s trying to contain his laughter. “But which one of us dies?”
Shiro’s eyes widen and he puts his hand up in protest of the idea. “Sorry, mistranslation. I meant Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra.”
This time Keith’s laughter escapes. “Better.”
“Who’s the beast we’re slaying then?”
Keith rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “Depends. Wanna get out of here?”
Oh hell. First, Shiro hadn’t thought that Keith would even talk to him, and now… “I don’t want another mistranslation. Do I wanna get out of here for…?”
“I mean, I’m on board for sex. I’ve got the first two seasons of Star Trek Next Generation but honestly I’m not in the mood for a marathon. Not with Star Trek anyway. What about you, though?”
“Sex is… Sex is good.”
Keith blinks, sensing hesitation. He pushes away from the wall, the fingers of his right hand weaving with Shiro’s left. “You sure?”
Shiro swallows hard, trying to get himself under control. Then he smiles, giving a firm nod. “Yeah. Sorry, I was in my head for a second. But yeah, I’m good with sex.”
That grin is back, the one that got Shiro on the dance floor in the first place, and it’s giving the Cheshire Cat a run for its money. “Then we’ll decide on the way.” Shiro forgets for a moment what they’re deciding on. It takes a few seconds to remember Keith was running with his not-at-all-sexy Star Trek flirting. He tugs at Shiro’s wrist, but Shiro pulls back.
“Wait. We should each tell someone where we’re going and with who. Not that I think you’re a serial killer, but safety first. You’ve got someone here with you to tell?”
Keith jerks his head towards a guy on the dance floor dressed head to toe in gray and magenta, then tugs out his phone. “My place. I’ll give you the address for your friends. Meet you back here?” Keith hands him his phone so Shiro can input his phone number, then a few seconds later his own phone is buzzing with an address.
“Yeah.”
When Shiro spots Lance, he tries not to be so obvious as to bolt over. He can be cool about this, even if his veins are thrumming with energy. Lance spots him and gives him an open-mouthed smile accompanied with an obscene flick of his tongue.
“Finally decided to join me on the dance floor? Been awhile, huh?
Shiro smiles, shaking his head. “Yeah, but only for a bit. I just…” His spine goes rigid. “Where’s Pidge and Hunk?”
“Pidge is waiting in the longest line I’ve ever seen,” Lance explains, flicking a thumb in the direction of the women’s restroom. Most women look miserable waiting, but Pidge is beaming. Months of hormones and clothes shopping and padded bras had led up to the moment where she finally could enter the women’s bathroom and pass, and she appreciates it every time. “And Hunk is being wooed over there by some girl named Shay. Hobbies include rocks, saving Mother Earth, and benching bars three times your weight.”
Shiro chuckles. “Sounds perfect for Hunk.” But it does mean that Pidge is going to be gone for a while and that he probably can’t interrupt Hunk. Which means… Ah. Lance is his only option. Which isn’t really that horrible. Lance knows when to tease and when to lay off, and he can keep a secret well into the grave (Shiro is assuming, since he still hasn’t spilled about the time he saw Shiro drunk or just how many times they’ve had sex - which is to say, that one night stand they had might have been more of a… four night thing). He always makes it his business to stay educated about sexuality, and he is both open minded about and equipped with all the safety rules of casual hook-ups. He is actually the perfect guy to tell, except for the fact that Lance was Shiro’s first hook-up. “Listen, Lance, I’m uh…” Shiro shoves his flesh hand into a pocket, glancing back towards where Keith is getting the attention of his own friend by shoving him? Huh. What a friendship. Oh well. “I’m heading out.”
Lance stops mid crazy-sharp-arm-dance-movement-thing-that-doesn’t-look-dumb-because-Lance-is-doing-it. “Oh really? Not feeling good, or is it just not a good night?”
A pink flush creeps up from somewhere high on Shiro’s chest. “Actually, I’m heading out with someone.”
Lance whips around to stare at Shiro so quickly Shiro thinks a bone or eight should have snapped in the process. “Crop top guy?” Shiro nods, a small and soft movement of his head. “Nice. We got a name and address in case he’s a supervillain here to kidnap you or something?”
There’s a good half second there where Shiro seriously considers acting disgusted, really hamming it up, but his stomach is doing about as much dancing in ten seconds as Lance has been doing all night. “Yeah, and a phone number. And his name is Keith.”
Lance is snatching Shiro’s phone eagerly, saving the number and the address and even snapping a photo of Keith. He takes his new job with such sincerity that Shiro can’t help but feel safe. “Alright, we’re good to go on this end. Permission to tell Pidge and Hunk where you’re going?”
“Uh, yeah. But tell them no one else okay? Just you three.”
“Of course, my man. Your sex life is yours and yours alone. I’ll text you at one A.M. to make sure you’re still alive and stuff, okay? Text me if you end up staying there or not. And we’ll come get you if you need it. Just text me something obvious. ‘Danger’. ‘Bad’. ‘He came in five minutes and I’m hella bored now’. You know, the works.”
Shiro smiled softly. “Yeah, got it.”
Lance grinned. “Good. Now be safe and have a good time.”
Keith’s already waiting for him at the door.
Sheith Mall Santa AU
Because my friend @8-bit-space is a lovely and glorious genius horrible and cruel cruel temptress who knew proposing this idea to me would only lead to trouble, especially because I’m being so slow on all my other projects I doubt I could write this in time this year. So instead you all get the notes from our discussion (plus lots of extra stuff - hope my friend approves).
This AU unofficially sponsored by Michael Buble’s version of “Santa Baby” and “Santa Clause is Coming to Town”.
Picture this in the true cliche glory of Hallmark but with The Santa Clause production value and a complete soundtrack by Michael Buble. And like. A dash of Transiberian Orchestra’s “Christmas / Sarajevo” instrumental beauty for intense moments.
Shiro
Post accident of some kind - hence, one arm short
A year or so ago, he received a prosthetic courtesy of his super thoughtful friends Pidge and Hunk, who were classmates of his at Garrison University
Currently strapped for cash because his grad plans had included being a pilot or astronaut and both those ideas are shot down so when he’s not in physical therapy he works at a gym, but the pay isn’t the greatest
The holidays are upon him. His “strapped for cash” condition is only emphasized by this, and his friends are definitely aware of this
Hunk works as a mall Santa during the holidays, and Pidge works as one of the elves who takes your kids photo and prints it out in some flimsy little candy cane-patterned frame
Hunk has been made aware that a Santa was fired just before the holidays at a nearby mall according to Coran
Hunk, in between making googly eyes at the other elf assistant - Lance, manages to convince Shiro to apply if he’s really that in need of cash
Coran is immediately sold by Shiro’s professionalism, sweetness, and buffness
Allura isn’t quite sure why buffness=Santa but she’s willing to let it slide because they’re a Santa short and this is Highly Important
Keith
Post high school graduation, has a one night stand with one of his. like. two friends
Result: He’s so totally gay wow whoops. Also she’s pregnant, this is grand
She wasn’t ready to have a kid but Keith didn’t want their kid in foster care like he’d been all his life, so he kept the baby
Four years later: Now single parent of a girl who’s four years old, high maintenance, and honestly a little monster (what four-year-old isn’t?) but he loves her to death because she’s smart and snarky and sticks to her guns
Steady job - probably a mechanic doing supplementary uber driver work because he can weave in and out of traffic like nobody’s business
The holidays are upon him. Keith needs to take his daughter to the mall to figure out what she wants because he thought he knew, but she’s managed to change her interests five times in the past week and it’s driving him crazy
Shallura, 30, in your Watch Me, Lovely series (if possible) - Allura cuddling him to get Shiro used to contact and so he'll calm down
You have no idea how excited I was to see this prompt. WatchMe, Lovely has a pretty tight timeline within the fanfic so anywhere I put itwas going to spoil it a little bit, but I think this should be… minimally spoilery?
If you want to know what series Boss is referencing, go here and read it. :)
Prompt fill for the lovely @bosstoaster. Hope you enjoy!!!
He didn’t want to stay in her room.
Shiro hadn’t said that of course, but Allura liked to thinkshe wasn’t totally oblivious to other people’s feelings. They’d discussedhaving him sleep in her room to maximize what little time they had to preparefor the council meeting. They had an entire Keth to build together (well, fake together, but Allura couldn’t helpbut hope that maybe…). Shiro and Allura had contact to adjust to, closeness toget comfortable with. Shiro had accepted the idea without argument, and while apart of Allura wanted to believe it was because he felt something for her, sheknew it was the exact opposite.
From the beginning Allura had suspected he was saying yes tothe whole thing out of obligation. It would be just like him, after all.
There had been moments where she’d allowed herself to thinkthat wasn’t true. But even as she had wiped away the sweat and cum from hisskin – tracing the edge of a burn scar that spread over his left side, his eyeshad flickered to the door.
What was the point in even suspecting anymore?
Still, Allura couldn’t complain. She’d consented to thesituation just like he had. But she had also consented to hiding feelings inplain sight and pining after him with her lips pressed against the hollow ofhis throat and the line of his collarbone and the curve of his spine.
Having sex with the man she had feelings for wasn’tsomething Allura had been worried about. Sex could be separate. In Alteanculture it often was. It could be anything the people involved wanted it to be:wild, rough, sensual, easy, harsh, soft. She’d been just friends with most ofher past partners, and the sex had been so many things. Awkward and silly atfirst, sometimes yes, but always great in some way or another.
So no, Allura definitely hadn’t been concerned with hercrush while having sex with Shiro.
But that had been when she assumed they both could at leasthave fun for the next five quintants.
Shiro ran his human hand over the sheets, smoothing out theplaces he’d gripped just a littleroughly – Allura had loved watchinghis fingers scrabble and flex, his brow furrowed as he tried desperately not torip them. Even now – taking in the sheets haphazardly pushed this way and that,bunched closer to the foot of the bed where Shiro’s feet had pressed to meether thrust for thrust – Allura couldn’t help but smile, her gaze bright in thedark.
She’d been having fun.
But his gaze was morose as he traced the folds that told oftheir night together. There was melancholy in how he pressed them flat, noaffectionate thought quirking his lips upward, nothing sparking in the gray ofhis eyes.
Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe for him this would only everbe the duty of the Black Paladin.
You’ve gotten yourselfinto something you might not be able to handle, Allura.
“Do you want your shirt back?” she asked, holding it up witha small smile. It dangled from her index finger, a mark of her earlier triumphat getting it off in the first place. The sheer tightness of the shirt thatunapologetically showcased his pecs day in and day out had mocked her forweeks. Therefore, it had met justice for its crimes. Allura had all but ripped itoff his body when she got the chance.
Shiro stared at it, expression flat. “And die of heat in themiddle of the night?” he quipped.
Allura snorted, letting it drop back to the floor. “Do youwant to wear something else?”
“I brought something to change into but…” Even in the dimlight of her headboard Allura could see Shiro’s lips pressing together withuncertainty. “I wasn’t sure if it was alright to wear it if I’m to be yourKethelin.”
“You can wear whatever you need to be comfortable.”
Knowing that, Shiro got back into the bed with a v-necksleep shirt and a loose pair of pants. Allura didn’t mind staying naked, buthis gaze was still shooting back to the door whenever he thought she wasn’tlooking.
She didn’t want to give him any more reason to bolt.
Back in her shift, Allura found her way under the covers.
“Shiro, is it alright if I touch you while we sleep?” sheasked, glancing his way beneath her eyelashes. “I think it’d be another way forus to get used to touching each other if we want everything to be natural bythe meeting.”
Which was true. Practice made perfect, and when she wasn’tearning moans and gasps and those delightful human orgasms from him during themeeting, she’d still be touching him casually, pressing her nose to the nape ofhis neck and running hands over all his hard-earned muscles.
But it was still cruel. So cruel of her to say that.
Because if he really was doing this out of obligation,there’d be no way for him to say no when she told him it would help with themission.
Allura immediately wanted to take the words back.She didn’t want to force him into this. It would hurt if heleft, but it wouldn’t be right to manipulate him into saying yes.
Shiro’s gaze shot from the door back to her where she satwaiting for his answer. “Of course, pri- Allura.”
For all that she had already touched every part of him –parts of him that she was sure (and hoped) hadn’t been touched since beforeKerberos – Shiro stilled when she slid her body up against his. What he waswaiting for, she couldn’t guess, but he was stiff until the moment she raisedher body a little higher, so that her right hand could settle over his shoulderblades and she could tuck his head and that damnably adorable tuft of whitehair under her chin.
The tension seeped out of him immediately.
Huh.
He still felt skittish inside her embrace – still felt likehe didn’t want to be there, not for this, not with her – but he touched herback, sliding a warm and calloused hand along the swell of her hip, shiftingsoft and silky fabric. Maybe he didn’t mind so much. Maybe the situation wasjust new.
That could be it, couldn’t it?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Allura had been so stupid.
Did Shiro not like being next to her? Was that one of thereasons he wanted to leave her room?
Allura didn’t know.
But the shout that woke her two vargas later made it obviouswhat the main reason was.
Shiro had night terrors.
She should have guessed that.
Allura tightened her grip on him – not enough to hurt, justa bit so he wouldn’t wrench away and off the bed. He continued to thrash,breathing heavy as he shouted garbled words the castle couldn’t translate fastenough. Not all the words were recognizable, maybe phrases he had picked upfrom other prisoners – new languages the castle didn’t know, but none of themseemed good as he writhed, violent gasps interrupting the string of frantic sounds.
It took a conscious effort for Allura to loosen her grip.She didn’t let go, but she gave him room to push against her, to feel thewarmth and give of flesh where he swore cold irons would be.
In her arms, he was so devastatingly fragile.
She wanted to squeeze, but didn’t want him to shatter. Therational part of her said he wouldn’t.
But even so.
When Allura had tossed Shiro into the Galran escape pod, hehad felt sturdy, solid, strong. Of course he had. He was the Black Paladin, hertrusted fellow leader, their steady friend, a part of the universe’s greatestchance against Zarkon. His gaze could be soft and warm just as easily as itcould be hard and focused. The paladins knew he would give them firm guidance andconfident advice; he would say what he meant even if it wasn’t what they wantedto hear. Shiro had been beaten down and faced consequences and bent rules andcome out on top, even if it meant clawing his way there until his fingersturned to bone and blood.
By accident or design – though they all knew which was more likely– Shiro had made it so easy to forget that he was struggling.
Sometimes, but not always.
Even so, it was startling to have Shiro pressed against herand bursting at the seams with memories she couldn’t possibly know, unravelingbetween full-body jerks and shuddering gasps.
She knew he wasn’t weak. He had weaknesses, but that didn’tmake him weak. Having moments where he wasn’t sure which way was up, what wasreal, where he was – it didn’t make him weak.
But whether or not he knew that, it did mean that Alluraneeded to do something. If she could help, she wanted to.
But what do I do?
When the castle, poisoned by the Galra’s crystal, hadtricked her into seeing Altea where none existed, Coran had reminded her ofwhere she really was. He had made her question what she saw, and realize on herown what reality was.
Okay. It was a start.
“Shiro, it’s Allura.” Hopefully that was okay. She wantedhim to know who she was. It wouldn’t matter what she said if he didn’t trustthe sound of her voice. “I’m your friend Allura. You woke me from sleeping infor another ten thousand years. I talk to mice. You call me princess. But Iwant you to call me Allura. You’re trying.” Shiro’s fingers dug into hershoulders, and Allura winced. He was using all his strength, something heusually reserved for when they sparred. “Hm… I showed you the black lion, andyou were nervous she wouldn’t fly for you.” Allura smiled, which was hard to dowhen Shiro was shaking and hyperventilating in her hold, that grip of hisbecoming more like steel every tic. But it was just as hard not to smile whenshe remembered seeing the oldest and seemingly most assured of the humans standbefore the black lion with such awe, tentatively reaching out to touch her paw,his eyes wide like a child watching their first rain.
“We have food fights in the castle. The goo gets in yourhair. It turns your bangs green for at least five vargas on a good day.Sometimes you don’t sleep at night. Sometimes I don’t either.” Shiro’s shoutinghad quieted, reduced to panicked murmuring between mouthfuls of air as his eyesscanned the room, daring shadows to show him what they were hiding. “When thathappens, you and I sit in the control room together. I scroll through theuniverse. You tell me more about the other paladins. You tell me I should trybonding with them more. I tell you that you should, too. Less training. More fun…”The murmurs stopped. His gaze was trained on her luminescent eyes in the dark.“We train most of the time,” Allura whispered sadly, running her hand up intothe soft hair of his undercut and pulling him back into her. “We shouldn’t dothat.”
There was no more to say after that. The words ran dry inher chest. All that was left to do was wait. Breathe. The erratic rising andfalling of his chest mellowed, and he matched her breath for breath.
Her eyelids were heavy with almost-sleep when he spoke,voice rough and low.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I should have just left when wefinished. I haven’t slept in the same room as someone since before the Galra…”His arms curled around her despite his words, pressing them closer. “I thought somethinglike this would happen.”
Allura turned Shiro’s head into her throat and gave a lowhum – something she hadn’t done since before her long sleep, back when Alteawas around and that was how her people comforted each other. “No matter what Imay suggest, Shiro, you always have the right to say no. You know that right?We talked about it yesterday-”
“I know… I just haven’t cuddled someone in a long time. I…” Shiro’sfingers worried at the fabric of her shift, flexing restlessly at the foldsbunched around her hips and the curve of her spine. “I missed it,” hewhispered.
He was going to pull away again. Allura felt it in herbones, and she tightened her arms around him before he could consider itfurther.
“Shiro, I’m not sorry you’re here, and I’m not sorry youstayed. I just want you to know that if we keep going is up to you, and ifyou’d feel better in your own room by yourself, that’s fine with me. But ifyou’re going to head back to your room because you think you’re going to botherme… you don’t. None of this bothers me. If you’re okay sleeping here, I wantyou sleeping here.” Allura pressed a human kiss to the top of his head, barelyeven a brush of lips on hair, too quick and soft for him to feel. There was arapid heartbeat thudding against her skin, but she didn’t know if it was Shiro’s,or just her own being just as vocal as it was used to. “So what do you want?”
“I… I want…” Shiro swallowed, pressing his forehead into herneck. “I want to be small.”
“Small?”
“I guess that sounds weird, huh? I just- I always have to bethe bigger person. I have to look out for everyone; I have to make sureeveryone’s okay. And I want to do allthose things. I would protect all of you even if it killed me.” She’d heard asmuch from Keith, a story about a wounded man at a campfire telling Keith he couldlead Voltron if the man ever died. A sweet sentiment in theory, but one thatmade her heart feel pressed into a space too small. “But sometimes… sometimes Iwish I could be small and let someone else be the bigger person. I want to be small…but still safe.”
Oh.
Suddenly Allura understood.
When she had tucked his head beneath her chin and wrappedher arms around him he had felt small. Small and safe.
It made her chest feel warm and fuzzy.
Allura didn’t say anything as she thought that over. Thesilence stretched until Shiro, evidently, couldn’t take it anymore. He chuckled,short and rough against her collarbone, fingers hovering above her skin. “Isthis more Kethelin practice?”
Allura stiffened.
How can he say that?
She’d touched him because she wanted to help him and bethere for him, because they were friends and he had been through so muchalready, because he’d spent dozens of nights having these night terrors aloneand she wanted to do what she could. It hadn’t sounded like an accusation. Hislaugh had been casual, light-hearted.
But it was an accusation all the same.
He thought she was only doing this so he could practice.
Because that’s allthis is for him, Allura. You knew that.
She had, but it didn’t make the persistent pounding of herheart any less painful in her chest.
“I think we’ve had enough practice for today,”
The warm breath against her skin stopped. Shiro’s fingersdug into her skin, his whole body tight against her.
And then it all melted away.
It was nothing new when Shiro pulled away. He had done itbefore. It didn’t matter that they all could see the ghosts dancing on hiseyelids and the scars being gained anew every time he had a flashback. Therewere moments where he flinched away from a sudden touch, a joking elbow jab, aplayful thwack of someone’s tabletagainst the meat of his thigh when he did something so utterly Shiro. The unspoken questions came likelightning. Had the hit that gave him the scar beneath the touch been just asquick? Had a joke gone too far?
But every time Shiro pulled away with ease, tucking it allaway before they could do anything more. Pain was secreted away behind a strongset of his jaw and the determined dip of his dark eyebrows. The more anyone onthe castle tried to grasp at the pain, the quicker he snatched it back.
Not this time. This time he was sluggish as he fumbled withhis legs still interwoven with hers, blundering through the shifting of his weight.Then Shiro got his bearings, and in a beat his body slipped from her’s.Blankets pooled at his waist and whispered against his still flushed skin as hesat up. “Of course,” he murmured, head still bowed, eyes trained on somethinginvisible deep beneath the mattress.
Oh.
He hadn’t seen it as practicing either.
“I haven’t cuddledsomeone in a long time. I… I missed it.”
Her heart pressed against the backs of her ribs, desperateto work its way through the gaps in between and reach for him if she didn’t.But the rest of her body caught up, and she pushed herself up into a sittingposition to slip a hand through the tense air between them. Long, dark fingershovered a breath from the curve of his jaw. That was where she waited, watchingwith cerulean eyes as his gaze slowly drifted upwards, a dark and misty gray.He found her hand a thought away from his face and froze, that gaze snapping tohers in confusion.
But even then, he kept it reigned in. Even when he was so, so unsure, he kept his look as steady ashe could in the middle of the castle’s decided night. Why can’t you just be scared? Why did he have to be on top of everymoment, prepared and grounded and sure? Wasit the Garrison?
“We’ve been through a lot.” It’s not fair, how much you’ve been through. “I don’t want this forthe council. I’d rather this be for us.” She didn’t want him to hide again.Maybe, if she told him she also needed it (and maybe she did), he wouldn’t pullaway.
But Allura didn’t want to lie either.
“I’d rather this be for you,” she added in a whisper.
Shiro’s mouth dropped, if only by a hair, and even withouttouching Allura could feel his fine trembling beneath her fingertips.
She licked her lips, uncertain herself as he continued tostare at her. “I want to be the bigger person for you. If that’s what you wanttoo.”
This time, his gaze flickered not to the door, but to herhand and her face.
A sigh escaped his lips. Her hand drifted up and he pressedagainst it, not unlike the cats of Earth that Pidge had told Allura so muchabout. “Yeah,” Shiro breathed, voice ragged.
A smile pulled at her lips. “Okay.” She spread her arms,letting her wrists settle on her knees, welcoming, waiting. “Come here, Shiro.”
He jolted, eyes going wide. She must’ve thrown him off. Therequest was admittedly a little abrupt.
“Please?”
Sometimes things could be as simple as that.
He fell forward and into the crook of her neck. It felt likeslow motion, like he wouldn’t reach her in this lifetime, and Allura was aheartbeat away from snatching his waist and pulling him to her when hisforehead finally touched her shoulder.
It took a moment to adjust again. Arms sought places wherethey wouldn’t go numb with time, and legs tangled together once more. Allura broughtherself up so she could gather Shiro against her chest, and if she cheated afew inches of height and pounds of muscle just in case well, surely no onecould blame her. If Shiro wanted to be small, she could be the bigger person –maybe in a more literal sense than he’d intended, but then again maybe not. Therewas no way to hide him from the nightmares. The past could not be undone. He’dbe dealing with that the rest of his life.
But – even if only for the handful of nights they had beforethe meeting – she could be there to help him through it, and that would have tobe enough for her.
Her presence didn’t end the night terrors (she hadn’tthought it would). A few vargas later he woke screaming, frantically murmuringabout the blood on his hands, the blood he couldn’t wash off and couldn’t stopseeing and couldn’t stop smelling.
Allura kept her sentences short, her words slow. It wasn’tperfect; he fought her every step of the way, but with time he rested his headon her chest again, and they breathed together, in and out and in and out. Sheguided him through the castle with her words, ended in her room with the soft,cool sheets wrapped around them, the old Altean sleep shirt he was wearing, thewarmth of his body healthy and tired.
It took half a varga to calm him down, but eventually hefell asleep again. Her front pressed to his back; her soft fingers traced scarsalong his abdomen; her nose nuzzled into his hair.
Cuddling, huh?
When the meeting ended and they broke the Keth, she wasgoing to miss it.
Deleted Intro from The Queen, The Gladiator, and The Diplomat
And this was what I originally had written as the start of the nsfw week day 1. Except my amazing beta proposed that starting with Keith and Shiro’s comical exchange would be a better introduction to the whole scenario. But you all can have the original beginning here.
Also I switched up the lions given the dynamic Allura and Lance have in this.
“I’ve been playing with an idea for a while now.”
Those had been the first words of a lot of stories for Allura and Lance. “I’ve been playing with an idea for a while now” was how Lance found Allura landing her private pod on a beach in Cuba like she wasn’t violating thirty-seven intergalactic codes. Because why stick to the Galactic Council’s droll meetings and Earth’s obnoxiously bureaucratic practices on the moon’s surface when she could meet the Earthlings face to face on her own? It was how Lance ended up the on-ship human diplomat for Allura, the recently crowned queen of the new Altea, because she trusted him with the truth more than any of the officials the UN offered up. It was how Allura and Lance piloted their lions for the first time, her in black and him in red, because war was harsh and maybe the lions of her father’s time could bring the hope they desperately needed.
“If you were thinking of finally courting me like you’ve been dying to, let’s skip the chit chat. My ring size is six and as future king of Altea, my crown needs to be eight and seven eighths aquameters,” Lance purred, stretching cat-like as he further spread out in his chair beside the queen. Aliens from all across the galaxy shouted and crowed at the spectacle below, and while Lance had been enjoying the view of one of the newer gladiators - tall and pale yellow with a soft giggle that betrayed her cutthroat attitude - he didn’t mind looking away to aim a playful poke of his boot toe at Allura’s shoulder.
Allura rolled her eyes, swatting him away with ease. “What sort of Altean royalty uses Mer measurements?”
“The kind planning to have a steamy romance behind his Queen’s back with one of the Mer advisors. But I’ll just go ahead and guess you’re not really going to propose to me.”
Allura laughed. “Not this time.”
“So what is it then?”
Allura’s lips curled upwards. “I’ve been planning on doing this idea for the past year, but never knew how to make it happen.”
Now that got Lance’s attention, meaning he missed the lithe yellow gladiator trounce her opponent. Allura could make anything work, and when she didn’t she turned to Lance. He came up with so many ridiculous scenarios a day, one of them was bound to solve her problem if she couldn’t. “An idea you’ve been wanting to do for an entire year? What could that be?”
The two gladiators exited the ring to the monstrous cheers of the crowd, thunder without lightning. Then the announcer gave a roar. “Our next match is against a vile fighter from the inner districts, an eight-legged menace with vicious claws. Their bite will kill in mere ticks. But their opponent is just as fierce. His skin may be fragile, but this Earthling’s spirit can handle even the Druids’ magic. His mind’s a steel trap, and he’s never lost a match. Welcome our gladiators, the Nightmare and the Champion.”
A ferocious being scuttled out from one entrance, large and covered in layers of deep red shell and black armor. They hailed from a distant desert planet, where justice was just as ruthless to survive as the heat of their two suns. Joining the gladiator ring had been their reward for ripping apart traitors to their city.
But Allura barely spared them a glance, keeping her bright turquoise eyes trained on the opposite entrance, watching a single man in spandex and Galra armor stride out into the ring. He carried nothing, just like the Nightmare, except the opponent had row upon row of gleaming claws and venomous fangs. The Earthling had none of that. Just a shock of white hair in front of his dark gaze, and a vicious scar over his nose. Marks of what it cost to be the Champion. Though anyone who knew anything of gladiators knew what he was capable of, and that was before he’d been given his new, glowing arm.
Lance should’ve known. They had seen the Champion fight dozens of times before, had watched him make his great debut against Mylax just a few years earlier at Lance’s request. He was friends with the Champion’s manager, and had been a not-so-secret admirer of him back when the gladiator had just been Shiro, the dashing ace pilot, not that his lack of subtlety meant Shiro even knew his name.
Still, things had certainly changed since then. Shiro - the Champion - dodged a string of the Nightmare’s lunges and swipes of their legs, but let the last strike cut it close. Possibly so the Nightmare would think they had the upper hand and let it go to their head. Claw skated over fabric and armor, leaving the seams of the fragile spandex to fall apart.
Exposed to the hot light of the arena, Shiro’s bulging muscles glistened.
Allura grinned, her teeth sharp in her mouth. “It’s not what I’ve been wanting to do. It’s whom.”
Fanfic Update: Watch Me, Lovely
Name: Watch Me, Lovely
Relationships: Allura/Shiro
Rating: Explicit
Chapter: 2/?
Current Tags: Pining Shiro, Pining Allura, Mutual Pining, Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Shiro Angst, Alien Sex, Alien Culture, Alien Biology, Exhibitionism, Femdom
Summary: “What exactly did you think you were agreeing to?”
- - - - -
Shiro could pretend to be Allura’s concubine for a week. After all, concubines were for behind closed doors. There’d be no reason for them to have to do anything crazy.
Except Shiro may have made a huge translation error, one that will come back to bite him in rather… unexpected ways. And places.
The tags from “Alien Sex” to “Femdom” haven’t happened yet, but I wanted to put them there so you all knew what you were getting into. The rest of the smut-related tags will be added as they occur.